by Randy Dutton
“Good.”
She scrolled through her tablet files. “Regarding the scientific documents and databases, the two years we’ve spent copying opposing documents and subtly changing them should discredit their value.”
“Under what pretense were they changing the files?” Swanson inquired.
Anna smiled. “It’s all in correcting history. This group willingly believes that global warming deniers have already sabotaged the documents. Others believe rewriting history is in the public interest, that changing the data and the results to prove global warming justifies any means to accomplish it. To them, this project will help fix a couple hundred years of mankind’s wanton ignorance.”
“Good. Now what about the scientists who still are denying CO2 as a threat?”
“We’ve been working for years with collaborators to remove the deniers from government and academic science boards, periodical reviews, and government grant consideration. As you know, recently we were successful in persuading Congress to pass a law that permitted only experts who have received government grants in their specific fields from being considered as peer reviewers. This has helped ensure contrary science isn’t submitted for publication, or submitted to the UN International Panel on Climate Change (IPCC),” she said confidently.
“I don’t want this to come back to you, or me,” Swanson emphasized. “How will you task the hackers?”
Anna gave him a curt smile and chided, “Alexis, I’ve long since mastered changing my persona. Let’s just say that any description one would give of me...wouldn’t be of me.”
Sven looked confused. “What exactly does that mean?”
Swanson turned to Sven. “It means, my boy, that Anna is a chameleon. She can disguise herself to look like any number of different people.”
“That’s right.” She sipped her wine.“It’s not enough to change some features. If you really want to throw somebody off, make them think of a particular person whom no one would ever equate to you.”
“And who would you go as?” Sven asked.
“I never tell anyone, not even Alexis. Sorry boss.” She shrugged. “I can tell you this.... I do my research based upon the time, location, and event, so it would be someone at Black Hat that many would vaguely recognize but who I know won’t be there. I can’t have a double hanging around. It’s a mind trick. Any description to the police would gravitate towards the known and away from the unknown.”
“What’s Black Hat?” Sven had a quizzical expression.
“Black Hat is a four-day hacker conference. It gives a series of very technical info security briefings and attracts the very best. It’s in Las Vegas from the end of July to the beginning of August, and it’s where my contacts will be. Some of these guys are off the grid. I’ve set it up so that they will come to me while not drawing any attention to themselves, or me.”
“Why would they do this?”
“Some are ideologues.... These are counter-culture types who want to bring down ‘the establishment.’ Think of them as the new hippies. Kind of like the ‘Occupiers’ who wanted to destroy the banks and” – she glanced at Swanson – “the wealthy. They’ve bought into the media hype that corporations are evil and, as such, are running governments, which they believe are letting mankind destroy the world. Never mind that most of these guys seldom see sunlight, or create anything other than trouble. Their lack of exposure to the natural world allows us to use them to our ends. They are rubes and the perfect scapegoats, because some of these radical leftists are openly calling for executions and decisive ecological warfare.”
“And what is their position on CO2?”
“They latched onto CO2 as the ultimate pollutant. They are so committed to decreasing anything emitting CO2, that they are willing to dramatically reduce human populations and shorten human lifespans. It doesn’t bother them.” Anna grimaced.
“What is your position on CO2?” Sven asked tersely.
“I’m a realist. It’s there. It goes up, it goes down. I don’t really care about the atmospheric levels. It’s all measured in a fractional percent. I don’t think it’ll ever affect my health, my villa, or my weather. But, I do know it will positively affect my income, and I plan on making a lot off the issue...” she said coldly. Her head turned and she smiled. “With Alexis’ blessing, that is.”
Sven was about to pursue the matter, but Swanson stopped him. “Sven, don’t challenge any of my employees on their beliefs of combating CO2!”
“Sorry.... How did you find...your rubes?”
“It wasn’t hard.” She smiled cunningly. “Google, for starters, chat rooms, referrals, hacker conferences.... Look, it’s my specialty to recruit people with special skills. It means I have to move easily through various social circles. And when I say ‘I’, I mean any one of my crafted personas. For the record, I can come across as strong a believer in global warming and the evils of carbon fuels as any Gaia worshipper.”
“And being in this location...” He waved his hand in a wide arc.
“Gives me access to unimaginable old and new wealth. Just within strolling distance exists over $200 billion.” Her voice became more severe, “But there’s much more here than just money. I can exploit the passions of art museum and opera patrons. I can co-opt the skills of world class information and technology graduate geeks from the Institute Eurécom in Nice. I can blackmail or cajole the biggest world gamblers visiting Monaco. And I can entice movie producers to modify themes and messages. The glitterati thrive on attention, or on hiding their foibles, and I can help with both. The means I employ may be cash, promises, drugs, alcohol, coercion…or more significant means.”
“Not to mention flirtation,” chimed in Swanson.
“Yes, that too,” she said demurely. “And from this area I can travel anywhere, quickly, via a number of modes.”
“Whose idea was the location?”
“Mine, but Alexis never paused in his endorsement, or in his rather, how shall I say, luxurious support?”
Swanson nodded once, a slight smile playing across his lips.
“May I ask how many identities do you have?” Sven asked.
She glanced at Swanson who appeared amused by the inquisition, her eyes narrowed and looked Sven squarely in the eyes. “No.”
She shifted her gaze to a front window, and wistfully said, “There’s a reason I live here. I can move easily through different cultures. I blend in, or stand out as I choose. I might be with a high roller at the Monte Carlo Casino one night, quietly moving through the homeless in Marseilles’ heroin ridden docks the next, and at the Rothschild Opera the following night. There’s enough of a devout Muslim population that even it comes into play on occasion.”
“Aren’t you worried about your safety? I mean, you paint yourself as being in some pretty rough neighborhoods.”
“Sven...I’m not helpless, and I’ve got some tools as insurance.” She slightly turned her head towards Swanson and winked, then turned back to Sven and narrowed her gaze at him. “And I always have some backup plans.”
Suddenly from a neighboring room the sound of a snarling dog startled Sven. He leaped out of his chair and backed up, not knowing if an attack was imminent. Three seconds, the growling suddenly stopped. He slowly turned toward Anna, only to be startled again by a derringer, its barrel centimeters away from his right eye. He stepped backward.
She immediately withdrew the threat and placed it on the table. In her left hand she was holding a very small remote switch—looking very much like a lipstick tube. With a smile, she pretended to touch up her full lips. She placed it next to the pistol.
“As I said,” she continued, “I don’t let people mess with me.”
During this demonstration, Swanson never moved—he remained calm and slightly bemused.
“Okay, that was dirty!” Sven wasn’t sure whether to be angry or humored.
“Precisely. My point has been made.” Brusquely she said, “A girl’s got to do what a girl needs to do.”
“Besides, Sven,” Swanson added, “As gifted and creative as Anna is with weapons and tactics, she has a 2nd degree black belt in Naha-Te.”
“I’ve never heard of that.” Sven sat down.
Anna elaborated, “It’s a form of karate...more a weapon than a sport. It uses a white crane’s movements as its basic attack patterns, and is particularly valuable for women at close range,”
“The same style used in the movie Karate Kid?”
“Close. That was the flying crane style, which relies on a little more distance between combatants.”
Drawing closer, she spoke slightly slower and softer. “I prefer to get up-close and personal, and if you want test me...we can spar.”
She backed up a step and her voice regained a hard edge. “I took it up as a child when my father was stationed in Okinawa. It was a matter of…survival…in a world of marines and sailors and sometimes resentful islanders. After two years of training, even the marines left me alone. More than one was hospitalized in the interim.”
Sven could see emotion building up within her despite her efforts to conceal it. For the first time since he had met her, his sexual interest turned to sympathy. He could only imagine the trials a beautiful blonde girl would have in a world of men where western women were the exception, so he changed the subject. “So,” he cleared his throat, “Alexis brought me along so I could help you. How may I assist?”
She handed him a slip of paper and said, “There’s an oil company I need to destroy.”
Returning to Snath corporate strategy, the three discussed tactics and contingencies for three hours. Later, Anna asked, “Sven, have you prepared the batches of anaerobic bacterium for the oil and gas well sealing?”
“The bulk containers are ready to ship. Just tell me where.”
She handed him a thumbdrive. “Here’s the location. It’s a specialized packaging converter company. Based upon the specs you gave me previously, I’ve got the bulk bacterium set to be re-packaged in half a million small containers about the size of a sugar sachet. In this case, the dried bacterium in the methylcellulose medium will be separated from the potato dextrose peptone growth compound. When the tube is bent, the separation barrier breaks and the bacterium reactivates. Each tube’s a separate dose. This packaging will keep it viable for well over two months. I’ve got a guy who will ship the packets out where they’re needed. I don’t want traceability on the shipment. We’re going to use a dummy shipping company.”
“Good job, Anna,” Swanson said proudly. “Keep me posted if there are any problems. I’ll pressure the government to make sure the oil and gas companies don’t stop this.”
Sven then passionately discussed his genetically modified phytoplankton. “We’ve rejiggered the RNA and improved its survivability. It’s the silver bullet to the CO2 problem”—he looked intensely into her eyes—“even if some people don’t think CO2’s a problem. If its main prey, the zooplankton, doesn’t eat it, it will dominate the ecosystem.”
“Why wouldn’t it be eaten?”
“We’ve inserted some alien proteins zooplankton can’t tolerate.”
“Takes out its enemies.” She nodded. “I like it.”
Sven further described how the phytoplankton could survive outside a high CO2 concentration zone, like those created by undersea hydraulic vents or oil spills. “Once the phytoplankton die, the trace elements and compounds such—”
She cut in. “I’ve heard the speech. The macronutrients necessary for biological growth are available to the phytoplankton progeny. Without this release there’d be no future generations. What else?”
We’ve added a few other biological tricks.”
“Such as?”
“Hot bunking.” Sven smirked.
Anna cocked her head. “Okay...what is it.”
“Resource sharing. Since iron is often in short supply in ocean water, our phytoplankton uses its iron in enzymes for photosynthesis to make carbohydrates. At night the enzymes break down and the iron’s reused to make organic nitrogen for proteins. During the day it reverses. It requires more solar energy but allows for a 40 percent overall less iron requirement.”
“Okay, that was new.” Anna nodded with amazement. Her eyes narrowed. “And yet your expression tells me you aren’t done.”
“I was hoping you’d ask.” Sven chuckled proudly. “The phytoplankton uses inert nitrogen gas dissolved in the oceans to create organic compounds. It’s called nitrogen fixation.”
“Why’s that significant?”
“Because hardly anything else can do that. It takes dissolved nitrogen and makes it usable for biological processes. It’s part of the overall out-compete design. With that and releasing the meganutrients but holding onto the carbon, we continue the purging cycle. Clever isn’t it?”
“Very,” she responded. She gave a glance to Swanson that concurred with his assessment. “What if the zooplankton do eat it?” she asked.
“The basic components still split apart, and the zooplankton excretes the macronutrients separately from the carbon remains. Do you know how much phytoplankton debris typically ends up on the ocean floor?”
“I can’t say that I do,” Anna replied, shaking her head.
“One percent. Ninety-nine percent gets recycled. Imagine increasing the non-recycled carbon to five or 10 percent!”
Finally, Swanson had heard enough. “Sven, don’t get overly excited. We need to ensure control over it.”
“But Alexis, we’re doing this to save the earth. It’s why you hired me.”
“Your skills and tenacity, yes, that is why I hired you. But we need to do this in stages,” Swanson said gravely. “I’m temporarily halting the Snath phytoplankton release.”
Sven’s eyes flared at Swanson’s decision.
Anna thought she detected something more – possibly understanding, possibly resolution. She wondered, Did Sven see this coming? Anna watched the debate she had known for years eventually would erupt. Sven never realized Alexis wasn’t a true believer that global warming was a serious threat, until possibly this moment.
The discussion continued with Sven trying to convince Swanson to change his mind, and Swanson holding fast. The issue was dropped when Swanson’s cell phone rang.
“I’ve got to take this,” Swanson said, then retreated to a quiet corner.
By now the lowered sun cast a broad shadow that enveloped the back deck. While Swanson sat in a chair on the far end of the deck talking in a very low voice, Anna lay on a chaise lounge on the back deck luxuriating in the warm breeze without having to deal with the bright glare. Her third glass of red wine was perched next to her on a marble table. Her eyes were closed, but her mind was quite active.
Sven sat in a chair on the other side of the table. With a beer in one hand he watched the sailboats and yachts cruise past. He kept stealing glances at her voluptuous form, barely hidden by the gauzy fabric of her dress. He finally broke the silence. “Looks like they’ve got a sailboat race going on.”
Anna, one eye momentarily opening and glancing seaward, responded, “It’s a sailing regatta out of Beaulieu Sur Mer. It‘s finishing up.”
“What does the town’s name mean?” Sven felt like casual conversation, something he seldom got out of her.
“Beautiful place by the sea.” She leaned up and reached for the wine glass. She looked at him with slight annoyance.
“How do you know it’s finishing up?”
“Because it’s approaching dinner time, and there’s one thing the French love more than sailing,”
He grinned. “What’s that?”
She smiled back. “Eating.”
His expression changed to a smirk. “I thought there was something else they put above that?”
Her smiled faded a little. “Yes, there is that.”
With that flat reply, Sven’s smirk also faded.
Swanson turned off his cell phone and walked over to Anna and Sven. “Anna, a word with you please...in private.” H
is voice was tense.
Sven took the hint and walked into the villa.
“Anna, it has come to my attention that Interpol is investigating an oil company executive accused of having a Maldivian environmental official killed. Tell me straight, are you involved?”
“Yes, Alexis, but it was necessary. I’ve got it under control. It’ll work to our advantage.” Seeing Swanson wanted more, she elaborated. “Outsiders were homing in on Hassan. He had to be silenced.”
“But a bomb?”
“It was the best way to put the blame on the oil executive. I turned a liability into an asset and made sure the investigators would see he had the means, the opportunity, and the motive. Nothing points in our direction.”
He looked doubtful.
Still not enough? she thought. “This will help bring down the oil industry,” she claimed. “How about I email you some talking points you can use with the press if the issue comes up, such as the evil deeds of the carbon industry and their willingness to bury the science?”
“All right then,” Swanson said more cheerfully. “Sven, come back out.” When Sven stepped back onto the deck, Swanson continued. “I’m going to fly out now…I think we’ve covered everything I came for. You have several choices. You can fly back with me to the Spider and we’ll be offshore Monaco by late evening. The helicopter can drop you off at the Nice airport, or you can spend the night on the peninsula and catch a flight back tomorrow. Your choice.”
Sven smiled cheerfully, “I’ve never been on the Riviera before, so I’d like to stay for the night.”
She eyed him warily, and asked, “Knowing of course, that there’s not a vacant hotel within one hundred kilometers of the coast on a June weekend, right?”
Swanson watched the interplay between the two with amusement.